The Lull Before - Part 4
Cele’s lips flattened into a tight line. He knew it was a last minute, ill-crafted lie, but was it that transparent?
Worst case scenario, there were only two of them - both of which Cele could easily overpower, even without his weapons.
“It was about midmorning,” Aisha sighed, setting her mead on the table in front of her. “When the Ilysian armies at the 91st Battle of Tyton began to overtake the Simonese.”
Midmorning on the fifth day, yes. Cele knew that all too well.
“Desperation was beginning to infect the young men battling alongside the brave king. This king was wise, and while he knew strategians won wars, they were useless without tools of implementation. So, the brave king came to a hired advisor and asked them these questions. ‘What can be done? What can give us the favor of the gods? What can give us the favor of the battle?’ He gave this advisor ten minutes to think – any longer and the tide would be too strong to swim back from. Simonese supplies were low, morale even lower. The advisor struggled for three solid minutes, knowing their decision - and their decision alone - would be the life or death of that brave king, his three sons, and his entire army.”
She settled her piercing gaze onto Cele, stilling every muscle in his body.
"What possibly could have been done? What would you have done, Philo?"
As a soldier from the other side, Cele knew he might’ve been biased. As a general who was far too decorated to hold pride in his militant achievements, he knew only a miracle sent by the gods would have shifted the favor of the battle. Cele couldn’t imagine how many nights of sleep that burden of responsibility had stolen from her.
When she broke her gaze, her eyes fell to her hands, and for a moment, she rested there in silence, as if mourning.
“Well, that adviser never answered. They were not quick enough, nor did they possess the ingenuity, the intrepid acuity, that ultimately bought them more time.” She raised her chin, smiling gently at Cele. “It was a young soldier, the echo of his greenness still resonating as he crossed through the camps. He spoke so boldly, so audaciously to the king that an outsider would fear for the young man’s life. I remember his words precisely. ‘Let a priest curse our arrows.’”
Aisha released a full, jovial laugh, throwing her head back in genuine gaiety.
Though, while she laughed, a pit settled in Cele’s stomach. Curse the arrows? He remembered a few wicked volleys, the panic they incited.
“While spoken enigmatically, the young soldier had the plan already prepared, awaiting the king’s approval. Spice tipped arrows.”
“Spice…” Cele exhaled, brows arched in absolute bewilderment. The arrows he couldn't force himself to forget, even if he tried, caused excruciating pain to those they struck, or even grazed. He himself had not been immune to their terrifying properties. The steel arrowhead that nicked a bare stretch of skin between his neck guard and his helmet caused such excruciating burning sensations that he thought it had been poisoned.
“It caused chaos for the Ilysian troops,” Aisha said, and it was true. The disorder that came about by it, no matter how quickly it passed, was enough to make the Ilysian infantry lose their footing. “Short lived burning and inflammation. That was all it caused. But battle isn’t about strength of the body, it’s about strength of the mind.”
Cele watched her smile, wondering if she relished the sight of the enemy in pandemonium.
“When a man’s skin burns because of a spice, he doesn’t flinch. When a man’s skin burns because of a curse, however…” She flashed her teeth before biting back the joy the memory elicited, composing her expression into something more authoritative. “I tell you this story, Philo, because said adviser would certainly remember the face of the Ilysian general, Celestino Adesso.”
Cele’s muscles went rigid, but he remained calm. Any rash move now would end badly.
“And you,” he directed back at her. “Aisha, were said adviser.”
She smirked. “I was. But relax, general. I have no intention of causing you harm.” She reached over and took a sizable swig of Cele’s mead. “The drinks are clean, the house has no weapons, aside from arrows, but they would be no good in such a cramped area, anyway.”
When this didn’t relax him, she continued.
“I hold no ill-will, as of this moment.”
“No ill-will.” Cele repeated her words with a sharp gaze. “Towards the man who killed your brave king?”
She tutted and sighed. “Yes, well that is disagreeable, indeed, but this worldly life is about the choices we make with the information we have. It is about relativity. We have no use for godly truths if we do not and cannot know them.”
The general remained quiet, not entirely confident he understood what she was saying.
“You are not the worser of two evils at the moment, General Adesso,” Aisha pressed on. “The wicked king that sits on the Simonese throne, on the other hand, I hold a strong distaste for. And I know for a fact that you are here because of Prince Heiko. What I need to know, however, is this - are your intentions to aid him or cause him harm?”